A Different Sort of Saviour
by BoundInSkin
Summary: In which Regulus discovers that your view on morality depends entirely on where you're standing, and that there are saviours in every house if you just know where to look. Lucius/Regulus, school era.
1. Part One

**AN: This is a sort of teaser chapter. Depending on the response, I might write more or leave it as a one-shot. So it all depends on your reviews! I apologise for any spelling/grammar mistakes or continuity errors. Thankyou for reading, and I hope you enjoy. WARNING: This story will contain a romantic relationship between two males. If this offends you, please stop reading. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter characters.**

A different sort of saviour (a story in four parts)

Part One

Regulus should have known, from the moment he turned the corner that lead to the Charms corridor, that something unpleasant was about to occur. The sight of his brother Sirius made his stomach clench at the best of times. Recently, though, he had been even crueller than normal.

Regulus couldn't quite work out if the latest spat of bullying was a delayed reaction to him being sorted into Slytherin, if it was due to his recent admission to their Quidditch team as Seeker, or if Sirius had merely found another way to rebel against their parents. Whatever the reason for it, Regulus hoped Sirius became bored of it soon, because it was making his life miserable.

So when his eyes landed upon his brother's lean form, lounging against a windowsill with that knowing smirk plastered all over his face, Regulus contemplated turning around. Sirius was flanked by James Potter, his ever-adoring fan, and that skinny Lupin boy who always looked exhausted.

Still, though, Regulus was with Mulciber and Nott, who were both big enough to challenge the older boys if it came down to a fight. Plus, if he ran away now it would just give Sirius another excuse to torment him. Regulus swallowed, arranged his face in a carefully composed expression, and began walking down the corridor.

It didn't take long for the explosions to begin. Sirius looked up as the Slytherins approached, his dark eyes glinting with something malicious. His feral grin widened. "Hiding behind your bodyguards, precious Reggie?" he called, his voice loud and mocking.

Regulus' eyes narrowed at the nickname he'd always despised. On either side of him, Mulciber and Nott exchanged a glance. _Don't go_, Regulus begged them inside his head, _Please don't leave me_.

"Piss off," he said flatly to his brother. Sirius gave a barking chuckle and pushed himself off the wall, James Potter following suit.

"Ooh, language!" his brother taunted, "What would Mommy and Daddy say if they knew their little Reggie-kins had such a filthy mouth?" Regulus couldn't stop the flush that spread over his cheeks. Why did Sirius insist on jeering at him?

They'd never exactly been the best of friends, but he couldn't remember this level of derision happening before.

"I imagine nothing worse than the things they said in the latest Howler you received," Regulus spat back at him. He knew immediately that it hadn't been a wise move.

He'd picked up on their parent's disappointment, an issue that Sirius had no problem with (although it would have killed Regulus to receive even one of those letters). Sirius' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh look, your little friends have gone and left you. I guess Slytherins' aren't known for being loyal." _No_, Regulus begged, _Please let him be lying_. One glance over his shoulder, however, confirmed his worst fears; Mulciber and Nott were both retreating down the corridor. Mulciber gave him an apologetic shrug when their eyes met, then disappeared around the corner.

Regulus turned back to his brother, the liquid dread in his stomach solidifying into something hard and horrible. He couldn't exactly blame his friends for leaving, not when he wanted nothing more than to turn around and run himself, but it still left him weak and helpless.

"They're known for being pure," Regulus snapped at his brother, "Unlike the company you're keeping at present." His eyes flickered over Lupin, who was watching the exchange with a guarded expression.

Sirius pulled back his top lip and sneered. "Ooh, posh words from the ickle firstie! Does it sting, Reggie-kins, knowing that Mommy and Daddy love me, the muggle-loving Gryffindor, more than they will ever love you? Does it break your weak little heart? Do you cry into your pillow every night, like the pathetic little girl you are?"

Regulus faltered. Sirius knew that he was insecure about their parents, desperate to please them, and he'd twisted that information into the words that would insult and hurt the younger boy more than any others could.

"They-they don't," he blurted out. His voice trembled, the statement pitiful even to his own ears. "You're lying," he whispered. Sirius loomed over him, at least a head taller and a good deal wider, his smirk feral as he taunted his brother.

"I'm their heir, Reggie-kins, their beloved first born son," he hissed, so quietly that only Regulus could hear him. The smaller boy stared up into his face, and wondered why on earth those foolish girls fawned over him. Sirius' angular features were twisted into something sharp and horrid, marred by hate.

"And you're just a slimy little runt," he whispered. A fleck of his spit landed on Regulus' cheek, and the younger Black couldn't take it any more.

"At least I don't surround myself with Mudbloods!" he shouted. There was a long, tense silence. James Potter glared at him, Lupin looked taken aback and Sirius - Sirius began to smile.

Regulus stood in the corridor, abandoned by his associates, feeling small and flustered and furious. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Funny, just that morning he had wondered whether Slytherins even possessed hearts, whether his housemates were capable of complex emotion.

Perhaps this intense marathon of fear and hate was life's way of reminding him that even snakes could feel.

He barely had time to reflect on that before a fist collided with his jaw. He had been distracted (although, when he analysed the situation later, he realised he should have expected it) and staggered backwards. Sirius flexed his fingers, eyes glinting, and stepped forward to repeat the gesture.

"I suggest you cease your childish violence, Black," a cool voice suddenly ordered, "Before I am forced to cease it myself." Lucius Malfoy regarded the situation through cold grey eyes that flickered between the brothers. His expression was a strange combination of bored and annoyed; the face of someone displeased with the current situation but confident that they could change it.

It was the face of someone whose mere presence commanded power. Regulus had never been more grateful to see a Slytherin in his life.

Sirius paused, obviously torn between his desire to break his brother's face and his reluctance to earn yet another detention. His eyes lingered on the gleaming Prefect badge pinned to Lucius' robes. Besides, Malfoy was older, and his family was just as renowned for Dark Magic as the Blacks.

Sirius sent Regulus one last scathing glare and slunk off down the corridor, muttering under his breath. His cronies, Potter and Lupin, trailed after him.

Lucius watched them go, then turned to glance at the younger student. "Come here," he commanded, and Regulus wordlessly replied. He felt his breathing quicken as cold fingers brushed against his chin, Lucius' face very close to his own. The older boy's expression was impassive. The perfect Slytherin poker face.

"The skin isn't broken," Malfoy told him, drawing back and breaking the electric contact. "Find some ointment to take care of the bruise. It's not… proper for a pure-blood to be walking around looking like they've been in some Muggle brawl."

He straightened up, nodded as if congratulating himself on a job well done, and strode off down the corridor. Regulus touched the sore skin of his jaw gently. Well, he had learnt a lesson today. Saviours didn't always dress in red and gold, with a Gryffindork grin plastered onto their faces. Sometimes they were tall and slender and hard, with cool fingers and a shiny green Prefect badge.

Regulus couldn't help but smile to himself.

**Once again, whether I continue this or not depends entirely on your reviews. Please let me know what you think, whatever your opinion. I'm grateful for any kind of feedback, and I'll try to reply to every review. **


	2. Part Two

**AN: Well, after a long hiatus, I have decided to continue this story. The chapters will progress as Regulus continues through his school career - but don't expect an enormous amount of action. I hope you enjoy it, anyway, and let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters do not belong to me.**

Part Two

When he was eight years old, Regulus decided that emotions were a nuisance. He was lying in his bed at the time, running his fingertips over his coverlet and listening to Sirius screeching from downstairs. The silk was soft and cool under his hands.

His brother had been arguing with their parents for approximately forty-eight minutes, if 'argument' was the appropriate word. Their dispute consisted almost entirely of Sirius screaming at their father, ranting about how unfair his life was and how ridiculous their family traditions were. Occasionally, Regulus would hear their father's stern baritone as he gave a response and, even less frequently, the scraping soprano of their mother's voice.

Orion Black always sounded as though he were issuing orders, his words laced with authority. He didn't demand respect; that would imply some exertion of effort on his behalf. People respected Orion in the way that a dropped wand fell to the ground, natural and consistent, as if there were no other option available.

He had passed some of that on to his eldest son, but not enough. Sirius had the confidence that bordered on arrogance, the careless egoism, without the reverence that their father's presence commanded.

Regulus, meanwhile, seemed to have inherited none of Orion's power. He was small and shy, easily overlooked and often ignored in favour of his brash, aggressive but infinitely more self-assured sibling.

The eight-year-old rolled over, so that he lay with his face pressed into the pillow.

Perhaps if he could overcome his little _problem_, his parents would pay him more attention. Perhaps if the medicines and charms that their mother brandished at him actually worked, he would be able to regain even a fraction of their respect.

Perhaps if he could wake up in the morning without the cold dampness between his legs, the chafing of his pyjamas on his wet thighs and the patch of foul smelling urine staining his bedclothes, he would be worthy of pureblood status at last.

His father had only spoken to him about it once. It was after dinner one Sunday night, at the time when Regulus usually took a bath. He had been called into Orion's dark, mahogany-panelled study, to stand weak and humiliated in front of the fire.

Their father had watched him through eyes as black as his own, and then told him firmly that he was far too old to wet the bed. Regulus, who was shamed and more than a little frightened, had begun to sob.

Orion snapped that he should not be embarrassed, that pureblooded boys did not feel embarrassment, but that it had to end.

That night, Regulus had visited the toilet three times before finally crawling into bed. He squeezed his thighs together, clutching his pillow, and prayed to his ancestors to cure his ailment.

The next morning, however, he rose to the familiar, disgusting sensation of soiled nightclothes and a stinking mattress.

Yes, Regulus told himself firmly, emotions were nothing more than irritating and useless. If he weren't so ashamed of his bed-wetting, so desperate to stop, and so mortified by his mother's accusatory rage every time she discovered the evidence, he might be relaxed enough to stop.

If Sirius was stripped of the frustration and fury that seemed to define his personality, the nightly arguments could end.

If Regulus felt nothing at all, he wouldn't mind being the least favourite child, wouldn't notice the smaller portions at dinner and the withering looks.

He vowed, at that moment, to strip himself of these troublesome emotions, and to become the blank, flawless Black he knew he could be.

* * *

><p>Regulus shook his head. Why did he make so many promises that he could never hope to keep? His legs were starting to ache, bent into an awkward position, but he ignored the discomfort. It had been five years since that night, and to an outside observer, he might appear to have maintained his childish vow.<p>

There was the occasional dispute with his brother, the one being that could stimulate such an intense dislike it could almost be called hate in the second-year, but apart from that Regulus remained cool and detached.

He had acquaintances, not friends. His grades were perfect, although teachers frequently remarked that he seemed unenthusiastic and even disinterested at times. He spent his free time studying, or practicing his Astronomy, or composing letters to his parents.

Actually, there was one other activity that Regulus frequently occupied himself with. It was, in fact, the activity he was pursuing at the moment. Sitting in a broom cupboard, his knees bent up to his chest, his eye pressed to the keyhole, waiting.

It was like one of those tests given to Muggle children, the ones he had read about in his Muggle Studies class. Find the odd one out: Banana, Apple, Orange, Australia.

Studying, observing the night's sky and writing home were all appropriate activities for a young pureblood. Hiding in cupboards was not.

This was the one gigantic flaw in Regulus' emotionless façade, the crack in the mask, the continent in the fruit bowl. He could ignore his classmates all he wanted, but it didn't stop his heart from beating madly every time he caught sight of a slender figure disappearing into the common room, a waterfall of blonde hair bent over a book in the library, a glittering Prefect's badge.

His breath hitched as the person he had been waiting for appeared. Lucius Malfoy was dressed casually in informal dark green robes, the intense colour contrasting beautifully with his pale skin.

Regulus shifted closer to the keyhole. He knew the shape of the prefect's body perfectly, from hours spent cramped into cupboards, behind statues and outside windows, tracing the slender contours until he could remember Lucius' form off by heart.

It didn't stop him from biting his lip as the older Slytherin moved with the fluidity of water along the corridor, that shimmering mane of silver-blonde hair tossed back.

With him, her mouth opened in a laugh, was Regulus' cousin Narcissa. People said they looked like twins, but Regulus couldn't see it himself. Lucius' features were elegant, refined and angular, whereas Narcissa reminded him forcibly of a horse.

He watched the girl press herself closer to the prefect, forcing him up against the wall. A really _ugly_ horse.

Lucius caught the girl's waist, long fingers spreading over the black velvet of her cloak, and twisted her so that the power balanced was redistributed and he was in control.

He bent his head to murmur something to her, his hair brushing against her more yellow strands, and Regulus pressed his ear so firmly against the keyhole that the metal dug into his soft skin. He persisted, but Lucius' voice was too soft for him to hear anything. He pulled back to watch the older boy capture Narcissa's lips in a hard kiss.

There was something vaguely incestuous about watching his cousin being ravished, but Regulus couldn't bring himself to care. He watched Lucius' hand travel down her arm, stroking her as he kissed her neck. She threw her head back, eyes closed, as the boy licked at her throat.

Regulus touched his own collarbone gently, imagining wet lips and sharp teeth. His fingers ghosted along his jaw, remembering how Lucius' had felt when he touched him that day.

Like ice, and fire.

Lucius slipped a hand beneath Narcissa's cloak and Regulus let his eyelids slip closed, following the older boy's movements with his own fingers. This feeling, the desire and the heat and the pain, made his chest ache and his toes numb.

This must be love, for what else could hurt so beautifully?

**Review, please!**


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